Cheated and Charmed
by Sarahgotbored
Summary: Three part series concerning how Thranduil met his wife, how he sent her away and how they came to have a child that helped bring about the end of all evil. Extends past LOTR and include Thranduil's journey to Valinor.
1. Cheated & Charmed

The world was in its second age; an age when the danger in the world was not as prominent nor as dominant as it is today. It was an age when the great forests to the East were still named Greenwood, and it was an age when the darkness that resides there at present was regarded as nothing more than a shadow that, like the clouds that hover high above the trees, was sure to pass.  
It was in this time that the king of the woodland realm set about training his son in the military arts; combat, archery, swordsmanship... everything that would be expected of the young princeling in due course. But Oropher knew little of how soon his son would need to utilise these skills, and he knew even less of how little his son was prepared to rule a kingdom of his own.

It was June. The forest was alive and the kingdom's favourite prince was finally considered of age. Mature. No longer would he be regarded as princeling, or elfling, or any other title one could think of and attach 'ling' to the end of it. He revelled in it, and believed that he was ready and old enough for anything. Albeit, this would prove false and ill founded before the end, but now we are getting ahead of ourselves. His father had requested that he train with an elf from Lorien; he did not know much about the ellon save that he was sent by his uncle Celeborn to inquire into the policies and politics of the Greenwood. Just as his father was training him for war, Thranduil assumed that Celeborn was preparing his young nephew for a life in politics, especially those regarding communication between realms. However, the young ellon had been granted to train with Thranduil during his stay and Thranduil was more than happy to oblige – he had been training with the longsword for a while now; it was an acquired skill and he believed he was the best in the realm.  
"My lord, the visitor from Lorien." Galion remarked as Thranduil's opponent entered the clearing where they would be practising. Galion was one of his fathers most trusted servants, he was not much older than Thranduil himself but already he was high in the household and one of the more respected nobility at the Elven court. On this day however, his task was not to assist the king in his daily tasks but rather to keep the young prince under a close watch.  
Thranduil nodded and turned his attention to the Lorien elf. His face was covered with a thin mask, as common when partaking in practice sword fights, and his hair was tied elegantly back in an elaborate braid. He was almost an entire head shorter than Thranduil and much more slender.  
"Do they not greet their opponents in Lorien?" Thranduil asked, slightly irritated that his royal status appeared to be of little importance to this stranger.  
"No my lord, I believe it is custom in Lorien to wait until _after_ the duel; conversation beforehand tends to lead to distraction." Galion contributed from where he sat, leaning against a tree, at the side of the clearing. The stranger merely nodded in response.  
"Very well." Said Thranduil, "We shall commence." He picked up his own sword and swung it down towards the Lorien elf with no lack of grace or surety. It would hit its mark. Thranduil was therefore remarkably surprised when he was met with the harsh sound of clashing swords, the echoing ring of the metal that reverberated in the silence of the clearing. His opponent hit first the next time, swinging his sword and aiming it low; quite literally a _low blow_. Thranduil realised quickly, and blocked it. Again their swords clashed. This continued for some time, their paces slowly increasing until they were moving almost as swiftly as lightening. That is, until Thranduil caught his opponent of guard and threw him to the ground in one fell swoop; a thrust to the back of the knees with the flat side of his sword. As the stranger fell, his thin helmet tumbled from his head, revealing the rest of those elaborately worked braids and, to Thranduil's surprise, a female face.  
"You're a girl?" He demanded. Galion smirked. She laughed.  
"I knew you would not fight me properly had you known I was female. I wanted to be equal, your grace." The elleth said, finally addressing the prince by a royal title.  
"Your name, elleth?" He asked, attempting to regain his composure. It is true, had he known her gender, he would have not have been so fierce, nor as determined to best her.  
"It is Astariel, your highness."  
Thranduil smiled in response and the training session was ended with Thranduil feeling both cheated and charmed.

"I might have thought I would have found you in here." Thranduil remarked as he entered the library. He was older now, and though Astariel spent months at a time away from Greenwood, she also spent months at a time in it. She had been appointed the official ambassador between Lorien and Greenwood, and yet preferred to spend her time in the forests of Greenwood rather than the forests of Lorien. Over the years, Thranduil had found that she spent increasing number of hours in the library during her stay in the Greenwood.  
"It is, as one might say, my safe haven."  
"And what, pray tell, is it protecting you from?" He asked, taking a seat on one of the engraved wooden benches that ran alongside the wall.  
"Heathens like you who do not read." She smirked.  
"I do read, I just care little for history and poetry and so read it seldom." Said he, and she rolled her eyes, much like she always did.  
"There is a danger growing, Thranduill, both my aunt and uncle are weary of it and fear it greatly. I fear we may all be heading for the Grey Havens sooner than we think." She said quietly.  
"The world has faced a darkness before, if it must endure it once again, the world will prevail." He said, gently closing the book in her hands. By human standards, Thranduil was a man, whereas before he was but a teenager. But there was a quality in his eyes that aged him, a quality that stripped away his youthful arrogance and superiority complex. The cause of this was mainly due to the death of his mother. She had passed into non-existance one cold, cold winter and neither Thranduil nor his father had been the same since. As a consequence, the entire Elvish court seemed to be in a constant balance between extreme melancholy and an extreme celebration to compensate for the aforementioned melancholy. The two almost went hand in hand – there was never one without the other following close behind.  
"She would be proud of you." Astariel said softly. It was she who had consoled Thranduil upon the death of his mother and it was she who would bring him food and water, and sometimes wine, when he locked himself in his bedchamber and would open it for no one else.  
He said nothing, only gazed at the bookshelves on the walls. The windows were stained glass and coloured with beautifully crafted images from Elven history – the Silmarils had a full pane of glass to themselves. As the light shone through them, the shelves that lined the walls became a prism of colour, containing a thousand different colours and hues. It was, Thranduil would reluctantly admit to his Lorien companion, rather aesthetically pleasing.  
"Why do they comfort you so?" He asked, his gaze not straying from the books bound lovingly in leather.  
"They do not change. They are constant. They do not waver or falter and you can always depend on them to give you the answer your seek, should you consult the correct one. They are pure and raw emotion and contain the entire history of our world. We should embrace them." She answered passionately. He admired the way her eyes lit up and the edge of fire in her voice. He only wished he had something he could speak that way about.

"Astariel should be sent home; it is no place for a young elleth when we are preparing for war. She should go now while it is safe to travel in these lands. Before long we will not be able to do even that." Oropher said to his son.  
"She cannot! Her position is not finished here! She is needed as an envoy between our realms! She is vital to our alliance with Lorien, we cannot so lightly send her away." Thranduil replied, outraged at his father's mere suggestion of sending her away.  
"I am sure Celeborn will send another. An ellon this time, perhaps."  
Thranduil recalled the first day he had met Astariel in the clearing. How she had fought just as well as himself and had almost beaten him.  
"She can do just as good a job as any ellon. Father, it would be folly to send her away. We cannot be sure that the routes are safe even now, you would not make her leave the safety of our walls?"  
"She can find safety behind her own." Oropher replied, sitting himself at his desk.  
"You forget father, she spends as much time here as in Lorien. These _are_ her walls." And with that, Thranduil left, finally finding the thing he could speak most passionately about. She had grown on him, though he was reluctant to admit it. When they had first met, their friendship was a back and forth exchange of insults and comebacks – he had yet to find anybody in any realm that could think of a comeback as quick as she, and he had yet to find anybody in any realm to get under his skin quite as she. Over all the time they had known one another, their friendship had grown – at least on his end – into something much more beautiful and much more complex.

It was a much darker day that Thranduil returned home after Dagorlad. His father had fallen, as had much of his army, and the young prince was forced to lead them home.  
She was waiting at the gates with the rest of those who had stayed behind. Her eyes scanned those returning for sign of his father, and when it was clear he was not among them, her eyes filled with understanding and rushed forward to meet Thranduil. There was no need for an exchange of words between them. She knew exactly what he was thinking and he knew exactly how she would react.  
He caught her in his arms as she ran forward and continued moving; he was in a haze. He was only slightly aware that he was holding her, save from the pressure of her head on his shoulder and the warmth on his chest. He did not speak a single word that day.  
He was broken from his reverie later that night, when there was a familiar knock on his door. She was stood with enough wine to drown even the worst of one's sorrows and no less than three books of Elvish poetry. He said nothing, he only opened the door wider to allow her in. He sat in silence, drinking his wine, whilst she read the most apt poetry to him aloud. She was right, he thought, poetry does bring some form of comfort in times of deep despair.

"I am to be king." He said, his eyes unmoving from the embers of the fire.  
"Indeed." She said quietly. "I do not doubt your ability to rule a kingdom with just as much grace and ability as your father did." She placed a comforting hand over his. His eyes finally moved away from the fire. He drained the rest of his (rather large) goblet of wine, and she was already filling it up before it had barely left his lips.  
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" He asked, raising one eyebrow whilst a smirk spread across his lips.  
"No, your highness." She said coyly. "I am merely helping you forget your melancholy."  
He sighed heavily.  
"My melancholy is going to need much more than wine to cure."  
"I know. But wine is as a good a start as any."

"Your grace, the coronation is merely weeks away. It would be…unwise to crown a king with no preparations being made for a queen." Spoke one of Thranduil's advisors at the mid-August council meeting.  
"I shall not marry a foreign princess. If I am to marry, you are all aware of who I shall choose and I shall have no one else." Thranduil said lazily, sprawling on the wooden throne that was soon to be his officially.  
"If I may, your highness, the elleth you would choose is rather… inappropriate." The councillor said nervously.  
"Is she now? Would you care to explain how?" Thranduil said menacingly.  
"A marriage should form alliances, therefore the princess should be somebody from a highly influential family. And a princess indeed should she be, she should not be an ambassador for your foreign relations."  
"You are forgetting, master councillor, that she is the niece of Celeborn of Lorien, and so is therefore kin to both he and the Lady of Light. I do not think she could have a family any more influential." Thranduil replied, rolling his eyes and dismissing the argument with a flick of his hand.  
"Ah yes, forgive me sir, but she is not a princess. And Celeborn has daughters that would be much more suitable, although a marriage alliance with Lorien would not be the most beneficial. I fear, my lord, that Lorien would seek to control the Greenwood and would override the policies you currently hold in place. We have different military policies in Greenwood. This would change your highness, and I do not think it would be for the better." The councillor said. "I think you would soon lose your power as king and hold the title only as an honour. The people here are naturally wary of Lorien - You forget that they are reluctant to help us quell the darkness that is beginning to nest on the edges of the forest and that it is _our_ people that are being harmed!"  
Once the councillor had finished his rather lengthy lecture, Thranduil was forced to acknowledge that some of his points were valid. Celeborn had expressed a desire to control the Greenwood's laws and customs, and he did not approve of the differences between cultures. And it was true that the people of the Greenwood were not entirely inclined to be friendly towards those that resided permanently in Lorien – they had shown no concern for their Greenwood kin.  
"I do not think the people would so readily dislike her. She has lived here for a number of years and is loyal to us. I do not think the people regard her as a Lorien elf."  
"Your highness, although that may be, I myself am vehemently against an alliance with Lorien. And I am sure that a number on this council would join me. You forget, your highness, that this council was appointed to advise you on your decisions and you are bound by law to listen to and take our advice should you be outnumbered. In this case, sire, I fear you are."  
Thranduil sighed heavily. The infernal councillor was indeed correct. Should the council be united and ultimately against an action of the king's, they had the power to override it.  
"Very well. I shall not marry her. But I shall not marry at all."  
But the council went one step further. They demanded the one thing Thranduil was loath to accept, and yet by law he was forced to. It was quite possibly the worst council meeting of his life.

"You need to leave."  
Once again, she was in the library. She was always in the library. He had taken the liberty of expanding it, adding an extra six book cases and filling them all with new books she had yet to read. He had, rather foolishly, thought her presence in Greenwood was guaranteed for a few more years yet, at least.  
"The library? But why? I thought-" She said, closing the book in her hands and standing up from her spot on the window bench.  
"No, not the library. The kingdom." He said. He shut his eyes. He could not bear to look at her whilst delivering the news that he was kicking her out of his land.  
"This is a joke, isn't it? Who put you up to this? Was it-"  
He put his hand up to stop her. Her face fell and she gently placed the book back on the shelf.  
"And what has brought this on? Was it your council?" She was smart, too smart, he told himself. He was under strict instructions from his council to not tell her the truth. She must not think she was being forced from the kingdom for political reasons.  
"No. I… I cannot be king with you here. You are too much of a distraction for me. I cannot hope to rule fairly and justly with you by my side. As I said, you are too much of a distraction. A distraction that I cannot afford once king."  
The crestfallen look on her face was almost enough to make him take it all back.  
"Is that all I am to you? A distraction?"  
"No. Yes. I don't know. All I know is that I need you to leave this kingdom and never come back. You will tell your uncle that you left because you disagree with my political style and he will appoint a new ambassador. You will not breathe a word of what we had together and it shall stay buried within the both of us."  
She had gone past confusion, past sadness, and now she was angry. Just angry.  
"You are the single most heartless, selfish, spoilt and childish person I have ever had the misfortune of knowing. I thought I had known you. I see now that I was wrong. I hope you rule successfully, _king_, for I am beginning to doubt that you will very much." She spat.  
"You dare to speak to your king in this way?"  
"Forgive me your grace, but you are most definitely not _my_ king."  
She left and slammed the door behind her, unknowingly taking a small part of his heart with her.

She was gone by the time the sun had risen the following morning. Once his council were satisfied that they had gotten their own way, Thranduil fired them all, and threatened them with treason should they refuse. He appointed new councillors and could only speculate how different things might have been had he replaced his council sooner.

He entered her library – he still called it hers, for no one else ever entered. The shelves were covered with dust. In a fit of anger he cast the books from the shelves and shattered the windows that he had once admired. The glass lay in a thousand tiny coloured pieces on the floor, much like the state of his council, his kingdom, and his heart.

**A/N - There will be one other, if not two other, parts to this. I plan on it spanning right up to the events in LOTR.**  
**Astariel is a character of my own creation, however everything else is purely the works o Tolkien and I do not own anything.  
If you liked it, pleeeeease review and/or fav. Ta!  
-Sarah x**


	2. Two weddings and a Funeral

It was only weeks before the wedding and the whole of Lothlorien was in uproar. The seamstresses were running this way and that in order to complete the bride's dress on time and the lord Celeborn was trying to prepare his speech for the great feast that was to be held after the ceremony.

Visitors and envoys from all areas of Middle Earth were gathering in Lothlorien to celebrate the union of the two realms. Even the Elven king was rumoured to be making an appearance. For this wedding was not for who you may think. Astariel and Thranduil had become estranged, they had not spoken since he so rudely demanded her leave of his kingdom. No, this wedding was between lord Celeborn's daughter, Celebrian, and the lord of Rivendell, Elrond Peredhel.

"Astariel, what do you think of the veil? Do you think it shimmers enough in the light?" Astariel was asked by her cousin, the bride-to-be, Celebrian.  
"I think it is lovely, Celebrian. As is the rest of the dress. And the table decorations, and your shoes, and your vows and everything you are concerned about!" She laughed "It will be a magnificent day!"  
"I am still a little concerned for the table decorations! Do you truly think they are enough? I wouldn't wish the guests to think we had stinted on the expense!"  
Astariel laughed again. "My dear cousin, they won't be looking at the table decorations, they will be too busy looking at the bride herself! You will dazzle them all!"  
Her cousin smiled at her, but the worry was still clear on her face.  
"Oh you are a great comfort to me. I do not know what I would do if I did not have you here, Astariel! I am in half a mind to take you with me when I go to Rivendell, for I surely could not do without you! I don't know how I ever coped all those years when you were in Greenwood!"  
At the mention of the Greenwood, Astariel's face darkened and her cousin quickly put her hands over her mouth.  
"Oh I'm so stupid. I know you don't like talking about it." Her cousin said, sitting down next to her. Her silk dress billowed as she sat and made her appear the image of grace and beauty. "I do wonder, though, why it is you will not discuss it. Oh, will you not share it with me? Your cousin, your kinswoman, nay, your closest friend?!"  
"Celebrian, there is nothing to tell. He asked me to leave because my friendship was becoming too much of a distraction. He was rather rude about it too. That is all I wish to say on the subject."  
"Your friendship? Cousin, you did not believe him?" Celebrian asked, clearly amused.  
"Why shouldn't I? It is true that we were always great friends." Astariel replied with a shrug.  
"Friendship isn't _that_ much of a distraction! No cousin, I think it was something much stronger that was the distraction." She said, smirking. Astariel laughed.  
"Just because you are in love does not mean everybody else is! Trust me, he had grown tired of our friendship. That is all." She said, and Celebrian smiled and let it go. Astariel had to admit, however, that the thought of seeing the king within mere weeks was enough to both make her stomach turn and her fists clench in anger.

When the Elvenking arrived, much to Astariel's annoyance, her uncle had demanded that the entire family line the path leading to the gate in order to welcome him. Specifically, he had told her to be polite and to remember her manners. She vowed instead that she would merely stay silent and stay standing at the rear of the group, contrary to tradition. It was customary that the ladies would stand in front, with the males behind. In this case, Astariel chose to stand in the back and blend into the shadows that the trees gave her.  
Of course, it was no use. He noticed her before he noticed any of the others, despite her efforts to evade his gaze.  
"My lady." He said, and inclining his head in a show of respect. She kept her lips closed tightly and did not say a word. She held his gaze and remained standing. He was shocked, to say the least. He was used to people throwing themselves to the ground in a deep bow to respect his status as king.  
"Astariel," Her uncle chided. "Show the king some respect."  
"Forgive me uncle, but he is not my king and so I am therefore disinclined to show him respect, as her certainly does not deserve any from me!"  
Her uncle's jaw dropped. He had never heard her speak in such a manner, and especially regarding a king of such noble stature.  
"Such insolence I see you breed here, Celeborn." Thranduil smirked. He was more amused than annoyed. Amused that she had the nerve to disprespect him so publicly.  
"I do not know what has come over her. Be sure that it will not happen again." Celeborn assured Thanduil, his gaze darkening. Thranduil waved a hand and the matter was dismissed.  
"Let us speak no more of it. I believe we have more important things to discuss. I believe the new envoy you appointed to my realm is doing a rather poor job."

The weeks passed and it was the day of the wedding. Celebrian was beyond nervous, barely being able to stand without shaking.  
"Fetch her some wine. The strongest we have, and in a large glass." Astariel demanded of one of the servants.  
"Yes my lady. We have some strong Dorwinion wine that the lord Thranduil brought with him for the wedding celebrations. I shall fetch a large goblet of that."  
Astariel grimaced. She was reluctant to accept anything that he had donated and yet she knew it was indeed the strongest wine in the kingdoms and would be sufficient enough to calm her cousin's nerves. She was right, of course, and when Celebrian had drank the entire goblet, her nerves were subdued and there was more colour in her cheeks.  
"What on earth would I do without you Astariel?" She said, fixing a loose strand of hair that had escaped its clip.  
"Indeed, what would we all do without you?" Her mother said, entering the room with a sweeping of motion. It was obvious where Celebrian had gotten her grace from.  
"Aunt Galadriel" Astariel smiled.  
"My husband is still rather angry with you, I must say. He still seeks to bring the Greenwood under Lorien regulation, he fears that king Thranduil will have no more to do with us after your outburst. I, on the other hand, think it was marvellous. You are well within your rights. It is true, he is not _your_ king." She smiled. Out of both of her guardians, Astariel had always liked Galadriel more than Celeborn. She was kind and generous but did not allow her children to become spoilt or selfish. She had mastered the balance between kindess and discipline. She had come to escort her daughter downstairs and begin the wedding, and so the two of them left the room, with Astariel walking behind the bride, holding up her silken train.

Thranduil's wine was especially potent, and it had been so long since Astariel had tasted the Dorwinion that it went straight to her head. The wine was notorious for it's strange addictive quality. Once one had drained one glass, one instantly desired another. It was infamous for it's intoxication, and on this particular night, Astariel had fallen victim to its potency.  
"I do believe you to be drunk." She heard the familiar voice before she turned to see him standing behind her. She had escaped the party to stand on a balcony in the fresh night air and was not expecting anybody to notice her absence.  
"What is it you want Thranduil?" She said rudely.  
"You have let your manners slide since you arrived home, I see."  
"No, I just see no reason to be polite to you. Even if you are a king." She hissed.  
"I want you to know, it was not my choice to send you away." He said quietly.  
"You told me it was. You said it wasn't your council."  
"Then I lied." He replied bluntly.  
"Then your manners are no better than mine. Gentlemen don't lie."  
"I am no gentleman. I am aware that you detest me, and I do not blame you in the slightest. I did what I had to do to ensure the support of my council – who, by the way, I have had fired. My kingdom must always come first, Astariel. Please, understand that. I will not say I am sorry, because I am not. I did my duty as king and for that I shall not apologise. What I am sorry for, is the loss of your friendship. You are sorely missed in the Greenwood."  
"I suppose that's sort of an apology." She said. Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps it was his merciless charm, but she felt herself forgiving him already. "Especially for someone who has no way with words." She smirked.  
"Am I forgiven, then?" He asked, looking at her from beneath his eyelashes.  
"No. Not yet."  
"Yet? It's a start then?" He said, not masking the hope in his tone.  
"Yes." She replied. "Yes it's a start."

She returned to the Greenwood, but this time it was not as the Lothlorien envoy between realms. On the contrary, she returned as the Queen. Time had passed since her cousin's wedding and the two had much reconciled themselves. He had asked her uncle for her hand, and her uncle was pleased to oblige. Astariel herself was shocked at the proposal, but said yes regardless and the wedding was held that summer. Her cousin and her husband Elrond had attended, already they had conceived children – two tiny twin boys that could barely stand. Thranduil looked upon them with a smile on his face and a glint in his eyes. His heart had truly been melted by them.  
She had been crowned on mid-summer's eve, and beautifully carven throne had been added in the throne one. The king threw giant celebrations every night for the first three weeks, and after that, there was at least one feast per week, followed by a large celebration underneath the trees. The wine was ever flowing and the food in endless supply. The queen never had a single moment when there was not someone waiting on her, waiting to fill up her glass should it become empty. That was, of course, until she stopped drinking wine altogether. She simply smiled and declined the wine. She began wearing loose fitted gowns and there was an extra gleam in her eyes and her hands constantly rested protectively on her stomach. She was with child, of course, and the kingdom was in a perpetual state of celebration.  
One morning in mid Spring, the king was practising his archery outside in a green clearing, when one of the queen's hand servants came rushing out into the green plain.  
"Your highness, it is the queen." she said, rather breathless and clutching her side.  
"The queen? What is wrong? Is it the child?" Thranduil asked, worry etched across his face.  
"It is the child, majesty, but it is not bad news that I bear to you. It is good! The queen has reached her time early; the child is on its way!"  
Thranduil immediately dropped his bow and arrow and raced back to the palace. He was told to wait outside and so nervously he paced the corridor for what felt like weeks. At last, one of the queen's hand servants emerged, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.  
"Your highness, your wife has given you a son." She said, smiling, but Thranduil could see there was something else she was concealing.  
"And the queen? How is she?" He asked. Her moment of silence was enough to make him barge into the room, where the queen lay tired and exhausted on the four-poster bed, with a tiny bundle in her arms.  
"Husband, your son." She said, her voice cracked and her face was pale. He placed a hand on his forehead and withdrew immediately, for her temperature was enough to almost burn his fingertips.  
"He shall be my Legolas. Our Legolas." He said, and she forced a small smile to spread across her face. It pained him to see her this weak and knew in his heart that something was not right.  
"My darling Astariel, know that I love you more than anything in this world." She smiled again, closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.  
She remained bedridden for a further two weeks, and it was on the second day of the third week that she passed. The king was entirely inconsolable. At night, a heart wrenching wailing could be heard from his chambers and many began to think that the king would never recover. He locked himself away until the funeral, and event then he could not find the will to speak, not even to look at his son. He looked down at his son and saw her eyes and her hair and her nose, and it made the grief intensify to the point at which he felt that he was about to faint.

The child had grown much in the years that past. He ran happily along the stream, brandishing a small bow with tiny arrows that had been a gift from his father. His maid followed close behind, her heart stopping when he strayed too close to the stream's edge.  
"Come now Legolas, your father wanted you back by midday. If we do not leave now you shall be late." She said and the child, obedient as ever, came running back and ran right past her in the direction of home. The child had grown and every day, he looked more and more like his mother. The king doted on the child, absolutely adored him, and all the boy had to do was look at his father with his big round eyes and the king would bend to his will. He was utterly spoilt – but he had been taught and raised well. He was obedient and polite and unselfish and most well behaved child in the entire kingdom.  
"My son!" Thrandul said, kneeling down and opening his arms for his son. Legolas ran into his fathers arms and was raised up and swung around in the air.  
"Ada, put me down!" The boy giggled and his father laughed. It had been such a rare sound over the past few years and it was only recently that the king had started hosting the weekly feasts again. The child had well and truly healed the hole that was in his heart.  
"Ada can we go down by the stream?" The child asked.  
"You've just been down by the stream, my son, surely you do not wish to go back so soon?"  
The curiosity burned in his son's eyes.  
"But Faranna would not let me near the edge and I would like to see the fish!"  
Thranduil looked towards the maid. "She is right not to let you near the edge, it is dangerous for one so little as you."  
"I am not little! And I am brave, ada, danger does not scare me!" The child said. His father was sure to give in eventually, and eventually he did, leading his son to the stream by the hand and ordering all his afternoon council meetings to be cancelled.

"Tell me about naneth, ada." Legolas said, dangling his tiny feet into the stream and marvelling at the multi-coloured fish that gathered around his toes. Thranduil had told his son the story a thousand times, but was happy to tell it again. Through his son, he found he could remember his beloved wife and continue her memory. She truly did live on in Legolas. He had her big, round eyes and her adorable button nose and her fine white-blonde hair. He had her curiosity, her stubbornness and her eagerness to learn. He had her kindness and her generosity and Thranduil could never have been prouder of his son.  
"You are like her in almost every way, my son. She, like you, was profoundly curious and had me wrapped around her little finger." He laughed, looking lovingly at his son making ripples in the water by splashing his toes. "She would be immensely proud of you." He ruffled his sons hair and sighed heavily. "We should return before the both of us get in trouble from the kitchen staff! They will not be best pleased if the dinner shall grow cold before we return!" He said and his son stuck out his bottom lip. "Come, I shall ask them to make you an apple pie for desert, and you can return to the stream tomorrow."  
His son stood up and dried his feet on the grass. He walked beside his father with Thranduil placing a hand on the back of his son's head. The boy truly was the only source of happiness in the king's life, and the entire kingdom thanked the stars for the joy he brought the realm.

"Ada you cannot leave me here! I _want_ to come with you! Please!" Legolas begged as his father saddled up the elk he was planning to ride to Erebor. The elves had received news that a dragon was burrowing its way into the dwarf kingdom and Thranduil, feeling a desire to aid his allies, rallied his people and prepared to march to the mountain.  
"My son you are too young. Besides, I need you here. I need you to look after the kingdom whilst I am gone." Legolas was just slightly younger than Thranduil himself had been when his own father had gone to war. He did not want his son to experience war just yet, he told himself. And so he made a great many excuses to convince his son that he was needed in the realm.  
By human standards, Legolas was perhaps thirteen or fourteen, and so was entirely too young to go with his father, but was old enough to believe himself that he was. His mother's stubbornness certainly began to irk Thranduil now.  
"Son, you cannot come with me. I need you here." He said, sighing. "You are incessantly stubborn. I shall not thank your mother for giving you that! Please, stay here where I know you are safe." He said, and eventually Legolas gave way and stalked back to the palace. In time, Thranduil thought to himself, he will learn that this is for the best.

When the elves reached the mountain, Thranduil saw that the dragon had already gone deep inside the mountain. He did not have the forces to kill the beast, and it would be a suicide mission to go any further. He held up one hand to signal a halt to his forces.  
"Retreat." He sad quietly.  
"Pardon, my lord?" Said an elf close to his side. "I thought we were helping the dwarves?"  
"The dwarves are beyond our help now. There is nothing more we can do. Head back home." He said grimly. The dwarves would surely detest him for this, he thought, but it was for the best. He had witnessed his father lead forces unwisely into battle and gotten himself and the majority of the forces killed. Thranduil refused to do the same to his people. He would not leave his son without either of his parents.

**A/N - Good news is that I have now finished college and all my exams are, as of Tuesday, completely done with. That means more writing until uni starts in September! There will be another part to this, a third and final part, and should be up sometime in the next week. Please read and review and all that jazz. Ta x **


	3. War Destroys Us All

"Your grace, the tower guards have sent word that two strangers are following the path to the gates. Shall we grant them entrance?" A pageboy announced, entering the king's throneroom.  
"Have they been identified?" He asked, idly picking at the grapes on a silver platter on a table by his left side.  
"One is the wizard, Mithrandir. The other is unknown to us, but he is of the race of men."  
"Gandalf the Grey is come to my realm? I do wonder at his purpose. Of course let them through, let them through and bring them immediately to me."  
"There was one other with them, sire." The young elf said nervously.  
"Another?" The king said inquisitively.  
"Yes sire, but he was neither wizard nor man. The tower guards could not determine _what_ he was. A small creature, on all fours, gambolling alongside them - although a rope was around his neck and held by the strange man. The creature appeared to be a prisoner of some sort."  
"This creature is certainly not of our realm, why has the wizard brought it here?" Thranduil murmured to himself. He could not deny that his interest was piqued. "Bring them here the instant they enter our boarders." Thranduil ordered, and the elf left the large chamber and headed at once towards the gates at the edge of the kingdom.

"I must admit, Mithrandir, I was curious when I received word that you were in my kingdom, and with a stranger and a prisoner, no less. What brings you here?"  
The grey wizard removed his pointed hat and the king noted that the creature they had reportedly carried was not among them now. "My companion is Aragorn, son of Arathorn of the Dunedain and heir to the throne of Gondor. We come to you for your assistance."  
"That depends on what you ask of me." Thranduil said, smiling coyly. "I do notice that the strange creature you travelled with is not here?"  
"We asked that he be detained for now." Aragorn spoke, and Thranduil was admittedly shocked. The use of his prison cells was granted without his permission? He was about to make complaint, but decided against it. That was neither here nor there.  
"Very well. What do you desire from me?"  
"Merely that he stay imprisoned in your dungeons. They are deep underground and the most secure in this part of the realm. We could not make it with him to Rivendell for he has tried to escape already almost thrice, I fear we could not contain him should he make another attempt, and it is imperative that he does not escape. He has information that our enemy desires above all else." Gandalf said. Thranduil remarked mentally that the wizard had a way of making everything sound serious. Thranduil did not fully understand the knowledge that the creature held, nor his importance.  
"I suppose I can do that. He is already locked away, after all. Yes, I shall keep him here. Will you stay for dinner? You are in luck; there is to be a feast."  
"My lord, from what I have heard, there is always a feast in this realm." Aragorn laughed.  
Thranduil shared in his good humour and laughed also. "It is true, this realm has two, possibly three feasts a week. Our cousins in Rivendell are lucky to have one a month!"  
"Alas, we cannot. We must continue on. We have important business to attend to in the very realm you mentioned. We have business with Lord Elrond." Gandalf said. The king smiled in a friendly manner.  
"Very well. Rest assured the creature will be contained safely here. Farewell, Mithrandir and farewell, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Pray we meet again in this life."

"What do you mean he has escaped?!" The king asked, outraged. Legolas stood beside him and cringed internally – he could feel his father's rage radiating from him. "He was meant to be kept under guard! How could he have escaped?!"  
"My lord it was an orc pack! We were attacked and in the confusion, he escaped!" A young elf stammered.  
The king applied pressure to the bridge of his nose, for his vision was turning red. He had sworn that the creature would remain here, away from enemy hands.  
"Father, it is hardly their fault. They could not have known." Legolas said, ever the diplomat. He was much more forgiving than his father.  
"For one thing, you have certainly inherited your mother's temper. It shall have to be you, Legolas, to go to Rivendell and deliver the news. Elrond has summoned a council anyway." He said to his son. Then, he dismissed all others and added in hushed voices to his son: "Also, I believe in my heart that Gandalf has found the one ring. You must go, my son, and keep me informed. It is our kingdom and Lorien that form a barrier between Mordor and Rivendell. Elrond will desire to keep the most dangerous knowledge to himself, lest it fall into enemy hands, but, my son, that knowledge may save our realm if we find ourselves under attack. Find out all you can, and report back to me. You must leave immediately."  
Legolas agreed, of course, and was ready within the hour to leave for Rivendell. Thranduil rode out with him to the borders of Mirkwood and bid him farewell at the edge of the trees, hoping that his son would arrive safely and return swiftly.

"A letter has arrived from Rivendell, your grace. It is from the prince."  
"I thank you. Place it on the table." Thranduil said, finishing writing his own correspondence (this time to Lothlorien) before opening another. He placed his quill down after signing his name with a flourish, and picked up the letter from his son.  
He read it once, then twice, then three times over. He felt the need to sit down for support.  
The letter read that his son was joining a quest to the very heart of Mordor to destroy the ring. Thranduil felt his heart still in his chest. Of course his son would want to help save the world. He had inherited his mother's courage and her determination to do good. Of course he would want to go. But he was little more than a boy, he was only just of age! Thranduil was still inclined to think of his son as a boy, as a child that needed protecting. He had to remind himself that his son was an excellent fighter, and could more than hold his own in a battle. He was agile and swift and the best shot with an arrow in the whole of Mirkwood. Thranduil was comforted to learn that Gandalf, and the stranger he had met once before, Aragorn, were also part of this quest. It soothed his mind slightly, that he was going with those whom he had met and whom he trusted. He knew writing to his son would not change his mind, and by the time the letter reached him, he would have left Rivendell. All he could do now was hope and pray that the last remaining member of his family would return safely to the nest.

Although Thranduil was caught up in war himself, the months that passed were agonisingly slow. Three attacks were made on Lothlorien from the fortress at Dol Guldur, and one attack was made on Thranduil's own lands. Each of the attacks were deflected and the orcs defeated. Celeborn and Thranduil attacked the fortress at Dol Guldur with aid from Galadriel. Many would think that Thranduil hardly had time to worry for his son, but worry he did. Even in the midst of battle, half of his mind was with his son and worrying for every breath that he took. He could feel that the war was drawing to a close, he could not feel which side would be victorious. Still, he posted watchmen at his towers around the clock to watch for his son, should he return home.  
When he did eventually return home, Thranduil was stood on his balcony facing the East. The door to his chambers was rather unceremoniously thrown open, and the king turned in surprise.  
"My lord, it is your son. He comes from the West." The elf that had entered said breathlessly. Thranduil stood without second thought and pushed past the elf into the corridor. He almost ran to the watch towers, hardly believing it could be true. Almost falling over his own robes, he climbed the stairs three at a time and entered the watch tower to see his son on horseback nearing the gates. He was not alone. He was with three hobbits,– Thranduil recognised their kind from his dealings with Bilbo - Mithrandir, and by the Valar, was that a dwarf?!  
"Father!" Legolas said, embracing his father at the gates. He had grown. He was the same height as Thranduil now. His father felt a tear enter his eye as he clutched his son close.  
"My son, where have you been? You were meant to return days ago!"  
"I am sorry father, I should have wrote to you. It was Aragorn's coronation as king of Gondor. As a friend, I had to stay and witness it." He said. He was the same Legolas that Thranduil had raised, but those big eyes that once had the power to make his father cancel his meetings and take him to the stream, now held a deep sadness and one could tell just by looking that he had witnessed some horrors in these months past. War destroys us all, Thranduil thought. He had not wanted his son to witness battle this young. He and his wife had both dreamed of a time when their son would be raised in peace and security.  
"And who are your companions? I hope they are prepared for a feast, my son, for there will be celebrations all month to honour your home coming!" The king said, seeing the same shadows behind the eyes of all four of his son's small companions. It saddened him to see the effects of war after the victory had been celebrated. They had won the battle, but how many lives had they lost?  
"Frodo Baggins of the Shire, our ring bearer – he took the ring right to Mount Doom and cast it in! His gardener, Samwise, went with him and is the most loyal creature I have ever known. Merriadoc and Pippin took different paths but both were of greatness and aid during the war. Merry was esquire of Rohan and Pippin, servant of Gondor. And there is Gimli, son of Gloin. I have found cause to believe that relations between elves and dwarves should not always be so unfriendly. There are none here more deserving of our honour, father." Legolas said grandly, smiling fondly at his small friends.  
"I do believe you will recognise the name Baggins." Gandalf said and Thranduil smiled.  
"Of course! Bilbo's nephew! Why, I never thought that such courage could be had in hobbits, never mind such a remarkable amount in one family! You are always welcome here, Frodo Baggins. And indeed, so are your friends. All of your kind are always welcome among these trees." Thranduil said, bowing his head in a sign of respect.  
The hobbits, the dwarf and Gandalf stayed but one day, but the celebrations lasted for weeks. They started early in the morning and lasted well into the night. It seemed that the entire world was in celebration, and it seemed that a darkness would never again touch Middle Earth.

The time of the elves was drawing ever closer to its end. Legolas built his own ship to sail to Valinor in, and had chosen, much to his fathers slight distaste, to bring Gimli the dwarf. Thranduil himself left Middle Earth at the same time, just one day before his son. Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, as well as Gandalf, had also departed from the Grey Havens. As Thranduil sailed across the waters, he reflected upon his long, long life. It was rumoured that though the dead had passed into the Halls of Mandos, some still made appearance on the shores of Valinor, and Thranduil hoped beyond hope that this was true. Oh, how he wished he could see his beautiful wife once more, and how he longed to embrace his dear mother, who had departed when he was only young. How much he wanted his son to meet his grandfather, Oropher, and how much he desired a complete family for once in his life. As the waves slowly rocked the boat forwards, Thranduil recalled his wife and her long hair and bright eyes, and their first meeting. He remembered her face as she held their son, and he remembered how she tried with all her might to stay strong and to recover.  
As the journey neared its end, Thranduil disembarked the boat. He glanced behind him, knowing his son was following in his footsteps and would be here within the day. As he turned, he saw the face he had longed for since her death. She had not changed. She looked as youthful and as bright as ever and she still filled his heart with a joy that he could not describe.  
"My love," she said. "I have waited an incredibly long time for this." She said, taking his hand in her own and leading him up the shore.

**A/N - I don't know if the dead would be in Valinor at all, and in fact I doubt they would, but for the sake of the story, suspend your disbelief. As always, nothing is mine, I simply bend these characters to my will (evil laugh).  
Sarah x**


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